


Sunday, pyjamas, rain

by ABigWhiteWolf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-03
Updated: 2012-08-03
Packaged: 2017-11-11 08:57:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABigWhiteWolf/pseuds/ABigWhiteWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John have an urgent case to solve. Or not? If only it wasn't raining!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday, pyjamas, rain

**Author's Note:**

> Another ficlet (well, this turned out to be a bit longer) requested by one of my lovely tumblr followers.  
> Give me three words and I will include them in my story.  
> If you find any mistakes (and I'm sure there's plenty), please contact me <3  
> Even though I'm not personally satisfied with this fic, I hope you'll enjoy it.
> 
> (Also, I realize that it is very unlikely for a forest to appear in the middle of London, but...let's pretend it's somewhere near.)

There are days when everything is lovely and peachy and you can’t help but smile while you’re cooking your dinner, or reading newspapers with your feet on the table. And then there are days when Sherlock just wouldn’t shut up, and all you could do is to get up and leave, roam through the cold London streets pretending you have something urgent to do.

This Sunday was the exact example of the latter. Sherlock was bored and decided to bring exactly three feet, two heads, twenty fingers, and five pairs of eyes into the flat and conduct extremely nasty experiments on them. John could hardly move in the kitchen and the craving to cook a tasty dinner vanished at the moment the smell of decay hit John’s nostrils. The vegetables he bought yesterday was now oppressed by the two decapitated heads in their fridge, the sink was filled with gleaming eyeballs floating in a soapy water, and the kitchen table boasted with cut off fingers carefully arranged in four rows. John came, John saw, John left defeated.

With nothing but his keys, wallet, and mobile phone in his jacket pockets, John wandered through the London streets for a good half an hour before he came up with something useful he could actually do during this unwanted stroll. He needed new pyjamas. John used to sleep only in his underpants or simply naked, but that was before certain nameless person would storm into his room every now and then, and violently wake him up shouting that “There is a new case, John!!”. There were also way too many unlucky moments when John would walk into the living room in his night uniform and bump into the detective’s clients, some of which were really attractive.  
Not that his underpants looked worn-out, shabby, or ugly. John simply felt that he needs proper pyjamas which would make him look...well...good... Dashing! No, not really dashing, but if he keeps accidentally meeting Sherlock’s clients in ungodly hours then he should be prepared for it. 

After an hour spent by searching and careful comparing of looks and prizes, John finally made up his mind. The pyjama bottoms were made of silky black cloth pleasant to touch, the two shirts (there were two, because it was a snip) were maybe a bit too tight for John’s taste, but the dark blue and deep green colour just looked too appealing.  
And so everything was peachy again. John was happily strolling through the streets and he almost forgot what made him so upset sooner that day. Almost. There was a buzz in his pocket. He fished his mobile phone out of it and saw a thing he feared the most. _Sherlock calling_. He glimpsed at the phone battery; there was only one bar left. For a brief moment, John thought about turning that call down and using the discharging of his phone as an excuse, but it was Sherlock. He could be in big trouble, or he could call John to simply announce him that they’ll be needing a new microwave because the old one has just blown up.  
“Yes?”  
“John, where are you?”  
“I’m at – “  
“Good. Find a cab. I’m going to text you an address and I need you to be there in less than twenty minutes.”  
“Why?”  
“It’s urgent.”  
“Okay but...Sherlock? Hello?”

Five minutes after Sherlock hung up, he texted the address. John found a cab and, tightly clutching the bag with his new pyjamas, set out. Thirty minutes later he finally arrived and saw Sherlock already impatiently waiting for him. John paid for the ride and got out of the cab. Then he gave Sherlock a very long and scrutinizing look.  
“What are you looking at?” Sherlock asked.  
“There’s something different about you.”  
“Shut up. We have work to do.” Sherlock started to walk towards a path that led into a big and dark forest which was spreading in front of them.  
“Oh hang on! Where’s your coat?” John finally realized what made Sherlock look so weird.  
“John, I won’t repeat myself. You can either come with me or go back to Baker Street and – “  
“Alright then! See ya!” John took out his mobile phone and started to look through his contact list for a taxi company phone number.  
“John!”  
“Just kidding.” he joined puzzled Sherlock on the path to the forest and started to walk. “Seriously though, it’s not like today is a particularly hot day. What happened to your coat?”  
After a moment of silence, Sherlock mumbled. “I had an accident.”  
“An accident?”  
“Yes, I was in the middle of an experiment when Anderson called. He said it’s urgent. By the time I texted you the address I was already fully clothed and looking for a cab, but then I remembered that the experiment I was doing a moment ago would be totally ruined if I just let it sit on the desk while the sun would shine on it. I had to put it back in the fridge.” Sherlock paused for a moment.  
“And then?”  
“Let’s just say that the speed in which I was putting the tray with the bowls back into the fridge didn’t combine well with the height of some of the bowls and the height of a shelf I was putting it in.”  
“Oooh.” John remarked pouting his mouth.  
“I would have worn it but Mrs. Hudson trapped me downstairs and didn’t let me go until I gave her both the coat and the scarf. I must admit, it wasn’t a good sight.”  
They continued walking the path for another thirty minutes. The sky was getting dangerously dark and thick black clouds were gathering above their heads.  
“How far is that place?”  
“I don’t know. Anderson was very vague. He just said ‘follow the path and when you see a big wooden cross, turn left, and after few metres you should see the shack.”  
“Since when Anderson phones you when there’s a case?”  
“Apparently, Lestrade is already in and he’s too busy investigating, so Anderson had to inform me about it. Neither he nor I were too happy about it. Though I had more fun.”

After another twenty minutes, John started to be a bit grumpy.  
“Damn! It’s starting to rain.” John said when the first raindrops hit his head and shoulders.  
“Don’t worry. We’re almost there.”

Well, that was the most distant almost John had ever experienced. They had to spend another thirty minutes running down the path in absolute downpour, and by the time they reached the wooden cross, they were drenched from top to bottom. John could only pray that his new pyjamas would remain relatively dry, hidden under his jacket.  
“There!” Sherlock shouted, pointing his finger at something nearby. “Hurry!” John could hardly hear him.

Finally! They reached the shack. It was very small and there was no chance that a whole investigating police team could fit inside.  
“Sherlock... There’s something really weird going on.”  
Sherlock was aware of how suspicious this situation was. He touched the rusty handle and slowly pushed the door open. The shack was completely empty. The only piece of furniture inside was a very small table situated in the middle of the room. Sherlock stepped closer and saw there’s a note placed on it.  
 _HAHA! GOTCHA! Till the next time, freak!_

Sherlock’s face turned extremely red. His lips were trembling with anger and his nose crinkled.  
“ANDERSON!” he exclaimed. “You little piece of –“  
“Alright alright! Calm down!”  
Sherlock, in the fit of anger, kicked the table several times, until it hit the wall and broke. Then he picked up the paper with the note written on it and tore it to pieces.  
John didn’t dare to speak to him for nearly five minutes. He then felt the urge to say something soothing.  
“I guess we should phone the cabbie now? What do you think?”  
“That is out of the question.”  
“What? Why not?”  
“I’m not going to spend another hour and a half in that rain.”  
“Oh well...then...I don’t know...we could phone Lestrade. He could bring us umbrellas.”  
Sherlock looked at John, thinking. He seemed so different; the usual black curls were now straightened and the hair ends were falling into Sherlock’s eyes, his face was gleaming with reflections of the raindrops, the mouth slightly opened while his breathing resonated throughout the shack. “Yes, do that.”  
“Oh, really? Right... just a sec.” John took out his phone from his jacket pocket. It was completely wet, but that wasn’t the main problem. “Oh blast! The battery’s dead. Sorry. We’ll have to use yours.”  
Sherlock put his hands on his head and then covered his face with them. Like this he walked to the wall and hit it with his forehead three times. John could swear he heard Sherlock made a quiet whimper. “I’m going to end up stuck in here.”  
“Hey, I’m also here, remember? Why don’t you call him from your phone?”  
“Because I forgot it in my coat!” Sherlock shouted and hit the wall with his fist.  
John sighed and shook his head. “Then I suppose we should wait until the rain’s over.”

And so they waited. It was getting late and dark. More importantly, it was getting really cold. And the rain wasn’t stopping. Sherlock did his best to hide his trembling, but he was obviously freezing.  
“We should take off our clothes. They are only making us cold and they will at least dry faster if we spread them on the floor.” John took off his jacket first and laid it out on the floor. His jumper was a lot drier than his jacket, but the wetness still sent shivers through his whole body. He spread it next to his jacket. The bag with his precious pyjamas which he hid under his jacket and jumper was luckily safe. He kept his shirt on, because it was relatively dry and it would keep him from the coldness creeping from outside of the shack. John looked at Sherlock, who was standing still.  
“Take your clothes off, Sherlock.”  
“No.”  
“Why not? Look at your trousers, they’re completely wet. You should really take them off before you catch a cold.” Having said that, John took off his own trousers, hoping that Sherlock would follow his example. He was now dressed only in his shirt and underwear. “Come on.”  
“I can’t...” said Sherlock. “I don’t have...I don’t wear...” Sherlock broke off.  
“You’re not wearing any underpants?”  
Sherlock’s silence was a final proof.  
“Alright...okay...there’s nothing wrong with that.”  
“Of course there’s nothing wrong with it. A lot of people do it.”  
“Yes, I know, calm down. But you seriously have to take that jacket and your shirt off.”  
Sherlock turned his back on John. “No. I don’t want to feel exposed.”  
John sighed and rubbed his face. “Jesus Christ. Really, Sherlock, will there ever be a day in which I wouldn’t have to put myself out for you?” Sherlock kept facing the other way, refusing to talk to John or even turn his head to listen to him. John moaned, grabbed the bag with his new pyjamas, and threw it towards Sherlock. It hit his head and ended up on the floor. Sherlock looked at it.  
“What is it?”  
“Clothes. Pyjamas, bought just two hours ago. Don’t worry, they look fancy, you can wear it.”  
“Hmpf!”

John quickly approached Sherlock and stood right in front of him. He was so close that their noses were almost touching. “Either you’ll take off your clothes,” he poked Sherlock’s jacket with his finger, “or I’m walking away. I don’t mind the rain, Sherlock. You can stay here for an eternity if you want, but I can walk away right at this second.” John’s look was fixed on Sherlock.  
“What, in your underpants?” Sherlock said perplexed.  
John sighed and bent his head. He picked up the bag with his new pyjamas, gave it a last squeeze to say goodbye, and shoved it to Sherlock’s chest. When Sherlock finally accepted his offer and took the bag, John headed for the opposite side of the shack and looked out of the window. The rain hadn’t ceased a bit. He looked at his watch; it was nearly ten-thirty in the evening. “I don’t think we’ll get home anytime soon.” John heard quiet rustling, as Sherlock was putting on John’s pyjamas. “I guess we’ll have to spend a night in here.”  
“Can’t say I’m not prepared for it.” Sherlock said, turning around to face John in his new garment. Naturally, the trousers were too short and loose for Sherlock’s long and lean limbs; his ankles and half of his calves were exposed. He chose to wear the dark blue t-shirt. The colour really suited him, but the t-shirt itself didn’t fit at all. It was very tight around his shoulders and his tummy-button was peeping out. John wanted to feel very sorry for how he had to give up his spanking new pyjamas, but seeing how awkward Sherlock looked in it made him chuckle.  
“What?!” Sherlock exclaimed.  
“Nothing.” Said John, still laughing. “It’s just....you look...” John couldn’t bare it and started laughing really hard, smacking his thighs with his palms.  
“Idiotic idea!” Sherlock started taking his shirt off furiously. It was so small, that he had trouble removing it. The sleeves were so tight around his arms and shoulders, that he simply couldn’t strip the shirt off of him. It ended up stuck around his head, disabling Sherlock to move. His frustration was growing immensely. John finally calmed down and approached Sherlock.  
“Sorry. Sorry, that was stupid. Keep it on.” John said as he helped Sherlock to pull the shirt back on where it belonged. John’s eyes were still teary from the laughter, and Sherlock looked at him a bit hurt. 

“Time to sleep.”  
“Ugh, dull.”  
“Yes, I know. But I will lie down right here, on this spot, and I’m going to sleep. I don’t care what you will do, as long as you’ll do it quietly.” John did as he said. The floor was hard and very uncomfortable, but he was used to that from his army career. Hopefully his clothes would dry over the night. He turned over on his side and folded his arm under his head. It wasn’t long before John fell asleep, lulled by the sound of Sherlock’s feet pacing around the dark room. 

“John?” Sherlock’s voice startled John who was just in the middle of a weird dream.  
“Yes?” John was still half asleep but even in this condition he figured that Sherlock isn’t walking up and down the room any more, but is in fact lying somewhere behind John. Judging from his voice, he could be lying right behind John’s back.  
“It’s really cold.”  
“Yeah, I know.”  
For a moment none of them said anything and there was a complete silence. Sherlock sighed.  
“Come here.” It was meant as an invitation. And Sherlock accepted it.


End file.
